


"hey, is this seat free?"

by spiritedwhere



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Superheroes, Alternate Universe - Strangers, F/M, Fluff, Fluffly ending, Mild Language, Romantic Fluff, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 16:13:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14116077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritedwhere/pseuds/spiritedwhere
Summary: in which adrien decides to sit through a 7-hour flight without moving because the cute girl next to him is sleeping on his shoulder.





	"hey, is this seat free?"

**Author's Note:**

> hope you guys enjoy this! please leave a kudo or comment!

Adrien thinks he’s done good so far when he books his first plane trip by himself, without the ease of his father’s assistant handing him a ticket and his driver not leading him through the airport. Sure, the times and locations and stops in between each place was a bit tricky to figure out, and the entire deal with finding his gate on his own was more than stressful under his time stretch, but as he settles into his seat, staring out into the window, he thinks he’s done good, way better than everyone had assumed when he offered to buy his own ticket after his shows had finished.

New York Fashion Week had just ended, and Adrien was leaving the Big Apple and on a plane bound straight for home. There, he’d begin preparing for _Paris_ Fashion Week, which would consist of more pins accidentally stabbed into him and clothes too tight for even his slim body. His dad, famed fashion designer and more than absent presence in Adrien’s life, had more interviews and shows to attend and couldn’t join him on the way home, leaving Adrien with little more than a week away from him. Even so, he made it very clear he’d have someone keep an eye on him, on the very small chance Adrien decided to rebel while he was without his father.

 _Enough of that_ , he thought. Deciding to finally put his dad out of his mind, Adrien plugged his headphones in and took in the sights of his bounty. First-class, not something he wasn’t used to, but this time without his parent and assistant not directing him on what exactly to do once he touched down, or how he was to dress, or what workouts and diet regime he would follow this week. For once, Adrien would be free.

Or, so he hoped.

“Attention first class,” a flight attendant says, standing in front of the section. “I’m sorry to interrupt before we take off, but we are overcrowded in the economy section and unfortunately have to move a passenger here, where a first-class passenger needs to share their seat. Please, enjoy champagne on us during the duration of the trip, and we apologize as a whole for any disturbances we’ve caused.”

 _Okay, just one new passenger_ , Adrien thought, leaning in more to his seat. _Nothing too bad, not like they’re bringing a whole family to this section._ Putting his headphones back on, he chooses to play a song his father normally would tell him to turn off, all loud sounds and vulgar words and totally not what one of the biggest models in the fashion industry should be listening to right now.

 _Fuck the industry_ , Adrien thinks.

Adrien waits for the plane to take off, tapping his fingers onto his eat rest, when he’s suddenly interrupted by the feeling of someone next to him. Removing his headphones, Adrien opens his eyes to gaze up.

In his line of sight is someone who radiates more beauty than all of the stages he’s sat through and walked in during his week. She’s small, but looks to be just about his age, with freckles dotting her body and her bright blue eyes almost outshining her matching hair. She’s clutching onto only a phone and laptop, and Adrien doesn’t need more than a second to realize what she’s wearing has to have been clearly pulled off the runway, all sleek and neat and something his father would most definitely approve on. She looks like she’s walked right off too by her appearance; with a second harder glance Adrien sees the body glitter painting her collarbone and cheeks, catches sight of the complicated braid her bluish hair is pulled in. If he didn’t see countless women and men dressed to the nines like her every other day, Adrien would be afraid he’d lose all ability to speak.

“Hey, is this seat free?” she asks, voice timid, and Adrien can tell by her heavy accent that she’s not only using English as her second language, but speaks French. Quickly, Adrien moves the few objects he had in the seat beside him out of the way and allows her to sit down, watching as she places her objects on the pull-out table attached to the seat in front of her. With the objects away from her chest, Adrien sees a card pinned to her shirt, and when he focuses his gaze, catches sight of the words printed.

_New York Fashion Week 20--. Agreste Intern: Marinette Dupain-Cheng._

_Dupain-Cheng_. With a jolt, Adrien realizes this must have been the intern his father had chosen to take to New York with him, as a chance to view firsthand what occurred in the fashion world during the most hectic time of the year. He had seen the name half a dozen times on nearly all of the multiple seating charts his father’s assistant had made him view, spotted it beside his father’s name at every event and party going on, even witnessed it sticky noted onto one of his outfits before he walked the runway. From what he heard while in makeup and hair, she was his father’s breakout intern; practically gifted with excellent seamstress skills and more than talented designing abilities. In fact, one of his stylists said she had an almost guaranteed job once she graduated.

_So why was she here, leaving the events early?_

He doesn’t speak to her at first, watching her as they takeoff and the passengers around them ease into the flight. She’s looking at various articles on her laptop, all about the shows currently going on. Adrien sees his father mentioned in almost all of them, along with a few pictures of Adrien himself walking the runway. When she opens up her email, Adrien sees she’s crafting up a response to his father and downloading several files he’s sent her. After clicking about for a few more minutes, she closes her laptop then leans back, running her hands over her face. By the looks of it, she looks more than stressed out.

“Long day?” Adrien asks her in French, hoping he’ll get a response out of her. She jumps, most likely not expecting him to talk. Looking over, she gives a small nod, then gestures to her card.

“Your father has me working around the clock,” she responds, voice much more confident now that she’s in her native language. Taking off the card, she carefully places it in her purse. “And here I thought he was giving me a break, letting me watch over you.”

There it is. _Of course_ Adrien shouldn’t have assumed he’d be let loose and free. Instead, his father has assigned his star student to babysit Adrien, probably forcing him to endure the same hellish conditions he usually faces.

“So you’re watching over me, right?” he asks. “I would think my dad should have chosen someone a little older.”

“Me too,” she says. “I was surprised when he told me to pack my bags too.” She straightens and throws a smile at Adrien. Her teeth are a blindingly shade of white, but looks too natural to have been bleached. “I’m Marinette,” she introduces. “You don’t need to tell me yours. I’ve been sewing all your outfits for months now. I practically know you in and out.”

“In and out huh? So I guess that means you’ve seen everything the Agreste family has to offer,” he teases. Marinette blushes, a bright red that covers up her cheeks. She turns her head to hide most of it, but Adrien can see by the tips of her ears that she’s more than just a little flustered. Worried he’s made her not want to talk anymore, he tries another topic.

“So, you sewed up some of my clothes?” he starts, voice creaky. Clearing his throat, he watches her turn around to look at him again.

“Some? More like _all_ ,” she corrects. Her cheeks are still rosy at the mention, but she looks more composed than a few minutes before. “Mr. Agreste says I’m capable enough to be in charge of all your clothing needs and lets me sew up all his next possible collections with him after he sketches. It’s not easy, but it teaches me enough for the most part.”

“All my clothing needs?” Adrien gestures to his shirt. “Is this by you?”

Marinette scoffs. “Are you kidding me?” she questions, her bold tone catching Adrien by surprise. “First off, that’s Versace,” she points out, finger tapping the brand name embroidered onto his shirt’s pocket. It’s Adrien’s turn now to blush, embarrassed that he could make such a mishap. _He’s the son of a fashion designer, for God’s sake!_ “Second off,” she continues, moving her hand away from his chest, “it’s a basic cotton shirt. I think Mr. Agreste would fire me if I made something so simple for you.” Opening her laptop, she clicks for a few bits before showing Adrien a news site’s report on his recent wardrobe choices.

Marinette points a finger to the pinstriped-button down he wore just two days before, on a secret outing for some ice cream before his chauffeur caught him and dragged him back to the hotel. Black and white with an embroidered collar, several fashion sites claimed it was only a sneak peek into the new generation of Agreste fashion. He hadn’t thought much other than it was a nice shirt when he put it on, but now, looking deeply at the picture, he realized how much work had gone into it.

“You made this?”

“Took me about a full day seated at my sewing machine too. My neck ached like crazy after, and the collar nearly made me want to lose it all.” Marinette takes off a few fuzzballs off of her shirt, opening up more as she talks about her collections. “Mr. Agreste only wanted you to have the pinstripe, but I added in the embroidered part last minute. I thought he would get mad at me, but he only said to hang it up for you. It was such a relief.”

“That’s amazing, Marinette,” Adrien says. “I can’t believe I have someone so talented making something so incredible.”

“Thank you.” Marinette looks down, and Adrien sees her cheeks emerge with a new wave of rosy. He also notices a stray eyelash, and lifts a finger up to capture it, catching her off guard with a small gasp.

“Eyelash,” he offers for explanation, carefully lifting it up. He brings it to her lips, she looks at him curiously.

“Make a wish and blow it away. It’s good luck, you know.”

Marinette closes her eyes, then puckers her lips, exhaling a small burst of wind. Adrien stares at her as her eyes remain closed, lips still poised as if receiving a kiss from the sun and moon. She’s almost more than pretty, almost everlastingly beautiful the more he looks at her, hoping to see her bright eyes flash open yet unsure of what to do when they do. Adrien chooses to lean back into his chair and makes sure to glance out the window when she opens her eyes, pretending he’s glancing outside.

“Uh, you should probably rest for a bit,” he says, still looking out. For some reason, he can’t force his head to turn and look at her. He leans his forehead and cheek against the window and feels the cool glass chill his surprisingly warm face. “You deserve a break, and it’s a long time until we’re back in Paris.”

Adrien doesn’t know how long he stays in that position, but hears the typing from Marinette’s laptop start up again, then end after a while. He hears her shifting in her seat, and can sense by the sound of her breathing that she must’ve fallen asleep. He relaxes, and pulls out his phone, ready to scroll through and notify his dad that _yes, he’s doing good and yes, he will make sure to call once he’s touched down and no, he most definitely will not do anything bad_.

He’s halfway through his response when he feels something rest upon his shoulder, adjust itself, and then lie still. Slowly moving his head, he catches sight of a head full of blue hair, and under all that, Marinette’s sleeping face. She sleeps soundly, the only indication that she’s even breathing based off the slow rise and fall of her chest.

_Fuck. How is he gonna move around now?_

Adrien tries shifting to the right a bit, seeing if she’ll decide to turn the other way and curl up in the direction of the aisle. Instead, she leans into his shoulder even more, this time turning her body so as to further give her comfort. An arm comes up and clutches his upper arm softly, leaving only his right arm free for use.

Adrien frowns. Unless he wakes her up, which he doesn’t want to do, he won’t be able to move during the rest of the trip, which is well over seven hours long. Then again, she does look overworked to the bone, and this would probably be the first time in a while she’s been able to sleep peacefully without his father ordering her around. Judging by the bags under her eyes and the pallor of her skin, he’s probably right. And well, she _does_ look pretty cute while she sleeps, lips pouted and her freckles, which Adrien sees now dot her nose as well, look painted by a fairy. Her hand, still wrapped on his arm, is dainty and nails neatly manicured, and she looks almost like a life-size doll left out. Adrien thinks he could probably stare at her the entire flight and not get bored, commit her face to memory and make enough paintings to fill a castle.

So, instead of moving around and causing her to stir from her slumber, Adrien goes ahead and takes the jacket he had lying on his lap. Using his free hand, he throws it over Marinette, shielding her from the cold air blasting through the airplane. Adrien lets her have full access to his shoulder, going so far as moving his neck some more. She curls up, and shows no sign of waking soon, which leaves Adrien preparing for the stiff position he’ll be in once the plane touches down. Alternating between his phone and looking at her, Adrien catches sight of several passengers smiling at him. With a jolt, he realizes they must think Marinette is his girlfriend, yet doesn’t go and correct any of them in fear his noise and movements will wake her up. Soon, he drifts off too, only to wake up a few hours later, arm stiff.

She’s still out, he notes. So, he decides to close his eyes and rest his head on top of hers, waiting until the flight is over. When the plane finally touches down many, _many_ hours later and the turbulence causes Marinette to stir, Adrien is able to take one brief moment to free his arm, which is unsurprisingly asleep and aching like _hell_.

“Is it over yet?” she mumbles out, and Adrien can see her start to shake her head as if waking herself up more. He chuckles, and waits for her to lift her head before he moves his whole body. Around them, others begin to stand up and grab their carry-ons.

“Yes, it’s over,” he says. Marinette jumps at the sound of his voice, then realizes with what looks like horror that she’s been sleeping on her boss’ son’s shoulder. She recoils and clutches his jacket before she realizes that it’s _his_ _jacket_ , handing it over quickly.

“I’m so sorry- “ she starts, before Adrien interrupts.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, waving off her apology. “You needed the rest.”

“How long was I asleep on you?”

“Just about the whole flight, but really, who’s counting?”

“Oh my _God_. I have to pay you back somehow; you must’ve been so uncomfortable the entire time.”

“Trust me, everything hurts. But hey,” Adrien smiles, “I’m sure you could just buy me lunch once we get off here and we’ll call it even, okay? You _do_ need to keep an eye on me while my dad’s still in New York, so why not just stay by my side?”

It’s an easy solution Marinette can’t refuse. She gets paid enough to afford almost anywhere in the city, within reason of course. And, she considers, how bad can lunch with a worldwide famous _model_ be? And not only just a model at that, but an incredibly kind and sweet one too.

“Why not?” she says. “After all, I think I’m all charged up now.”

“Of course, you are. You were out like a bear in winter.”

“Did I snore?”

“No, but you did drool quite a bit.”

“Did I?!”

“No… well, not a lot. You did look cute while doing it, so it doesn’t even matter that much.”

"...Shut up."

"Is that any way to speak to your boss' son?"

"No... but you should."

"Make me."

"I'll make you, all right."

**Author's Note:**

> follow my tumblr @mari-cheres! i love making friends and talking about ml over there!


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